Force
by WhisperWeeper
Summary: After an aggravating fight with America, Russia finds himself ambushed and sedated. Not only that, but he woke up to find a mysterious man laying on top off him - NAKED! Chaos ensues . . . Smut, Violence, M for a reason, sweeter than you'd think - There's going to be 3 chapters. RusCan
1. Chained

_"YOU GODDAMN COMMUNIST!"_

Russia ducked just in time to avoid the heavy book flying at him, the blonde sitting next to him flinching. Hearing the object slam forcefully into the wall behind him, the white-haired man slowly turned his gaze across the conference table. Slicing through the tense atmosphere, angry blue eyes bore themselves into his mauve ones. The room went silent.

"Da, _comrade_ _America?_" Russia spoke lowly, threateningly, a dark aura radiating off him.

"You bastard, get away from my brother!" America hissed, his eyes flashing violently. Russia's eyes widened just the tiniest bit before his glare deepened.

He felt the smaller man in question twitch reflexively next to him, a small gasp escaping him. "A-Alfred!" Canada squeaked quietly. "What are you—!"

"Stay out of this, Mattie," the blonde growled. He never took his eyes of the Russian. "Can't you see he's trying to corrupt you?"

_How stupid is he?_ Russia grimaced—more out of annoyance than anything else. He sighed, waving his hand dismissively as he turned back to the Canadian. "We're just discussing each other's foreign policy, тупица."

"Don't lie to me, commie!" America slammed his hands down on the table, causing a good sized crack to appear in the wood. Several of the other countries jumped and were beginning to become uncomfortable. Usually the American was never this hostile unless it was wartime—usually he was laughing and cracking jokes, stuffing his face with hamburgers and coming up with outrageous ideas.

"Alfred," Canada said timidly, his white bear squirming with uneasiness in his arms. "We r-really were just talking about each other's policies. P-Plus . . . h-he's not a communist anymore, b-brother."

Another slam, making the crack root its way up into the center of the table with his unnatural strength. England immediately stood, resting a hand on his shoulder and whispering into the blonde's ear as he tried to get him to calm down. America just shook him off—nearly sending him to the floor—and grabbed the Englishman's book. "Don't you _dare_ take his side, Mattie."

"I'm n-not—!"

"LIAR! You're defending him!" The American's words bit into the air, cutting into the Canadian. The small blonde flinched again as the book came soaring at him.

_CRASH!_

_BAM!_

_CRAAAAACK!_

It all happened in a blur. Russia stood up so fast that his chair was sent falling to the ground as he yanked the Canadian behind him. He swatted the book away, sending it sailing somewhere towards China to his right, hearing the man yelp as he jumped out of the way. A heavy snow boot rose up and kicked the conference table, sending it scraping across the tile at the American. The furious blonde smashed his fist down on the wood just as it reached him, completing the crack to the other side and making it collapse on the ground in front of him in two pieces.

First of all, there was just stunned silence. None of the countries seemed to know what to do next considering most just made a narrow escape at being crushed. Next came all the flustered protests and outcries shot at the fighting pair.

"Alfred, what the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!"

"V-Vanya, please calm down . . ."

"You stupid brutes, aru!"

"You dumb American, look what you did to ze poor table. Mon dieu!"

"R-Russia looks s-scary a-a-again . . ."

"Latvia! Don't say that!"

"ALL RIGHT EVERYBODY CALM DOWN!" Germany shouted, his voice echoing throughout the room. The countries quieted down somewhat, murmuring to themselves.

Russia finally broke his staring match with America and leaned down to pick up his fallen chair, unconsciously still gripping the Canadian's arm. "I think this meeting's over, da?" Setting the chair right, he slowly let go of the small blonde and met his gaze. "We'll discuss things later," he muttered, waiting for the boy to nod. Sending one last glance to the American, he strode out of the meeting.

Hearing conversations starting up again behind him, Russia was half tempted to run back there and bludgeon the American with his pipe as he began to shout at his brother. Not only was America aggravating him, but he was also acting incredibly weird. He hadn't even done anything to anger the American and the blonde thinks he has the right to snap at him? Ha! Russia sped down the hallway to his room before he actually _did_ turn around.

Slamming his door shut, he kicked off his boots and unbuttoned his coat. The room felt too warm and, as his fury rose, he debated whether or not to punch the wall or break the desk. But then he'd have to pay for damages. _Fuck._ Instead, he just stepped over and fell back onto the bed.

Why did he care what happened to Canada anyway? They had no relationship other than work associates. Hell, half the time he never saw the Canadian! He'd be there one minute and then all of a sudden disappear.

_That kid would make an excellent spy,_ Russia thought fleetingly.

But still, maybe it was because anything the American did just pissed him off. Especially when he got angry at other countries over pointless things—like yelling at China that he didn't bring enough snacks, or at England for fixing his tie for him, or at France for groping him. Ok, that one doesn't count. But damn, America was like a thorn in his side . . .

He's probably still yelling at his brother for _talking_ to the Russian, even if it was just business matters. An image popped in his mind of Canada shaking in front of the American, clutching that polar bear that he always has with him, too intimidated and quiet to speak up. Russia pictured himself reaching out to comfort the Canadian, his fingertips brushing along the boy's trembling pink lips, feeling his soft cheek in his palm . . .

_The fuck are these thoughts?!_

Russia growled, sitting up on the edge of his bed. "I need some vodka," he decided aloud, standing up and stretching. He just wanted to drown himself out to the world and go to sleep. All these complicated thoughts about America—and the _new_ ones concerning Canada—were giving him a headache.

Walking over to where his coat lay draped on the back of the room office chair, he rifled through the pockets and pulled out his flask. Frowning, he shook it, only sensing that there was about a quarter of it left. Just a sip. That won't be enough to get him drunk. He downed it anyway, enjoying the liquid as it burned its way down his throat, warming his stomach.

Violet eyes were just beginning to scan the room in search of a mini bar when a soft knock sounded at his door. Confusion spread through him as he walked over to it cautiously. Who would be coming to see him? If it was one of his sisters he didn't feel like dealing with them right now—especially considering he'd upset Ukraine pretty badly at the meeting. He'd even made her cry. He sighed again. She was still afraid of him. Completely opposite of Belarus. Oh god, if it was Belarus . . .

Peeking through the peephole just to be safe, his brows furrowed in suspicion as he didn't spot anyone. Opening the door carefully, he glanced back and forth down the hallway to see who might have knocked. No one. Damn hearing . . .

Just as he was shutting the door, something shiny caught his eye and he looked down at the ground to spot a dark glass bottle. Picking it up slowly, he noticed that there was a small card tied around the neck with a red ribbon. He walked back into his room, kicking the door shut behind him as he read the neatly scrawled letters:

_Dear Russia,_

_Sorry for the way my brother was acting earlier,_

_I don't know what was up with him._

_Thank you very much for defending me._

_Sincerely, Matthew~_

He even put the little squiggle. How cute.

Russia allowed himself a small smile as he opened the bottle curiously. Knowing that Canada used to be under France's care, he expected it to be some sort of wine. But as the cap popped off and a familiar sharp scent floated up to him, he half thought that Canada was a godsend as he took a large gulp.

_Vodka._ Not the usual brand he drank, but well enough.

It usually took a lot more than a bottle to get someone like Russia drunk, let alone knocked out. But as that final drop of alcohol slid onto his tongue, the last thing he remembered was the floor coming up to greet him.

…**xXx…**

It seemed as if he was floating in the cool nothingness of darkness, endless waves of shadow lapping across his skin. Russia's head was foggy and he felt numb, unable to figure out what was going on. As he tried to remember what he was doing before he'd blacked out, he heard a voice calling softly.

_Wake up . . ._

He felt the slight brush of something feather-like across his cheek and he jumped. Or, well, he think he did. He couldn't tell because his mind was still muddled. Then suddenly, a single point of light appeared in the darkness. He layed still in the dark, gazing upward at the point of light as it began to grow. Good. Now he was finally starting to return to consciousness.

First things first when waking up from a black out. One, your senses come back to you tenfold. Your hearing detects the tiniest things—everything seems too loud—and you can taste whatever you ate last in the back of your throat. Two, your body hums back to life and anything you touch feels rough, irritating your skin. And finally, once you open your eyes, the light bites into your retina and blinds you momentarily.

Russia blinked furiously, trying to clear his blurry vision. The throbbing in his head caused by the light and sound induced migraine wasn't really helping either. His light breathing seemed to echo around him, ringing in his ears. From what he could tell, he was currently leaning up against something like a wall in a dark room that was only lit from a light outside the window. A weight felt as if it was pushing down on his chest, making it hard for him to take in some much needed air. As the last of his sight cleared, he spotted something and glanced down at himself to see what it was.

And, oh god, he wasn't expecting a person.

A _naked _one at that.

Jumping in surprise yet again, Russia winced as a slight pain cut into his wrists and he looked up to see thick shackles clasped around them. He tried giving a sharp tug but his arms stayed aloft and connected to the wall. In defeat for now, he looked back down at the man laying on him. A head of tussled blonde hair rested on his chest with a smooth, pale-skinned back arching down into the Russian's lap. As he adjusted himself so he was sitting more upright, jostling the person on him a bit, the blonde's head rose slowly.

_Canada._

He could tell that much, even though there was some sort of metal contraption wrapped around his eyes. Confusion running through the Russian even more now, he tried to speak but found that there was a similar steel device hooked over his mouth. Grunting in frustration, he tried breaking the chains again. _What the hell?_ He thought, giving a sharp tug. _It shouldn't be this difficult to break these damn chains!_

"Good, you're awake," Canada murmured, causing Russia to pause. His quiet voice sounded louder than usual, probably due to the fact that the Russian was amidst a hangover of sorts.

The small blonde sat up on his lap and he couldn't help himself as his purple eyes gazed him up and down. The boy was . . . exquisite. His pale skin gave off a soft glow from the moonlight leaking through the drapes behind him, lighting up all of his gentle curves. He was built nice, not overly muscular but not completely weak looking either. His smooth chest graced down over a toned stomach into his naval. As his eyes continued down, a warm buzz began to flow through his veins and his vital regions got hard. _Dammit._

"I have no choice about this," the Canadian said, his cheeks sporting a healthy blush. He scooted backwards a bit and started to unbutton the larger man's slacks. _What on earth is he doing?_ The Russian's eyes widened considerably as Canada slid them off down his legs, tossing them off to the side. The blonde moved back up and gripped the top of the Russian flagged boxers, pulling it down and revealing the man's now painful erection. "Please forgive me." _The hell! He wouldn't—_

Russia failed at containing the moan that escaped him as the Canadian slid onto him. _He . . . He's so_ _tight_. A beautiful gasp escaped the blonde and he tensed up, impossibly getting tighter around the Russian. The larger man fought to keep himself from speeding up the process, somehow resisting the urge to just thrust up into the poor Canadian. Usually he would just take anyone without a second thought, loving the sounds of their desperate screams and moans. So since when did he become this considerate?! But . . . it was obvious that the boy was in pain—the fact that he was clawing at the Russian's pale blue shirt and the sight of blood trickling down as Canada finally took him all in made violet eyes widen.

_He's a goddamn virgin_, he realized quickly.

"J-Just give m-me a mi-minute," the Canadian panted, hunching over and resting his forehead on the man's chest.

Anger began to flood him, beating out some of his other emotions and most of his hangover. Russia's hand balled into fists and he desperately pulled on the thick shackles, careful not to move his hips too much. _Who the fuck would do this to him?!_ he thought, a growl starting up in his throat. The metal around his wrists were starting to warp, strained by the massive pressure pulling on them. _I swear, when I find out who's done this to him, I'm going to murder them!_

"W-What are you do-doing?" Canada asked. His voice sounded faint as he lifted his head back up, wincing as he straightened. Russia barely heard him as he struggled to break free. His eyes were beginning to cloud with red, his rage increasing as the seconds ticked by. Terrible thoughts of what he was going to do to the mysterious perpetrator swam in his mind, fueling him on. The metal couldn't hold out forever. Almost there—

_SNAP!_

As soon as his wrists were free from the cuffs, he gripped the damned thing around his mouth. He quickly found a switch and unsnapped it, throwing it angrily to the side. Russia wrapped an arm around the frozen Canadian and flipped their positions, trying to lay the boy as gently as he could on his back. It didn't do much though.

"Aaah—AH!" Canada screamed, his back arching and his fists nearly ripping the silk it clung to. Russia unhooked the steel blindfold from the boy, tossing it aside, revealing his eyes that were currently squeezed shut from the pain.

"Open your eyes, Matvey," he ordered softly, remembering the Canadian's name just in time. He was desperately trying to keep his anger—and lust—under control, keeping his arm loose around the blonde's waist.

Canada froze beneath him, his hands releasing the fabric of Russia's shirt instantly. Pained eyes opened slowly, the tears that have now appeared making the light blue orbs glossy. His expression ranged from shock, to fear, to anguish and he barely managed to whisper, "R-Russia?" before he broke down in a sob. His hands came up to cover his face but the Russian just took them both into his free hand, letting the Canadian grasp it as hard as he wanted.

"Who did this to you?" Russia demanded lightly.

"I-I don't kn-know . . ."

He grimaced. "Are you sure? It wasn't your ass of a brother, was it?"

"N-No, I di-didn't s-see who-who it wa-was. I-I-I . . . I-I'm s-s-so so-sorry, R-Rus-Russia-a, I-I . . ." Canada choked out, his stuttering worse now more than ever. His crying caused him to wince as he still had the Russian inside of him. The larger man considered pulling out but figured that it would just hurt the Canadian even more now in his hysteric state—not taking into account the fact that he was still buzzing with lust.

He felt his anger being melted away by the tears streaming down the Canadian's blushing face. Russia couldn't stop himself as he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the boy's lips. "Shhh, Matvey, shhh . . ." he tried his best to comfort, not really good at this sort of thing. This whole situation just seemed to be spiraling out of control, becoming more and more confusing. Why did he seem to care so much anyway?

But as soon as he felt the small blonde's arms snake around his neck and trembling lips meeting his again, it suddenly came to him why. This Canadian, this _boy_, had somehow latched onto his heart, threatening to pull it right out of his chest. He didn't know when it had happened, but he just knew it had. He felt a bit of his old self coming back, messing with his thought process.

He wanted to make Canada _his_. To have him fully become one with him—more than he already was.

Properly this time.

Russia waited patiently until the Canadian's sobs had calmed, leaving him a pile of sniffles beneath him. "Matvey? May I ask something of you?"

"Yes?" Canada muttered softly, pulling back a little to stare up at him with wet eyes.

Russia moved him into a sitting position to stand up while he talked, hoping to distract him. "Since this is clearly your first time," he paused, taking a mental picture of the cute blush that flamed out on Canada's cheeks as he said that. "I want to make it up to you. You were forced into this, so it should be your choice." Odd—he'd never given anyone a _choice_ before.

Canada hiccupped, resting his head on a pale shoulder. He wrapped his arms tighter around the Russian, his legs following suit as the larger man stood carefully. Neither of them could keep their moans hidden as the movement triggered an arousing response between them. The Canadian cleared his throat, quite embarrassed. "W-What would be m-my choice?"

"Whether or not I make love to you," Russia stated simply, heading for the nearby bed.

"W-W-Wait a minute! What?!" He couldn't help but smile as the Canadian sputtered in surprise. He set the blonde gently down onto the soft sheets, finally pulling out of the smaller man. They both shivered from the loss, Canada squirming uncomfortably as he was beneath the Russian yet again. Blue orbs drifted unsure, glancing around the room nervously—anywhere but at the man above him. "W-What exactly are you a-asking me?"

"Precisely that," Russia murmured, moving to sit and gaze down at the moonlit man before him. He began to unwrap his scarf, folding it neatly and setting it on the bedside table to keep it safe. He started to unbutton his shirt, also. "It'll hurt at first, Matvey, but it will get better. Such a kind person like you deserves to not go through life scarred like this. I will make it as best as I can." Ok, if he was being completely honest with himself, he just really wanted to fuck the Canadian as hard as he could. The boy looked too seductive to refuse. And it had been quite awhile since he'd taken anyone, made them one with him—not since the Baltics left his home. "So," he continued after discarding his last bit of clothing and switching his thoughts. "What is your answer, Matvey? Da, or . . ." He leaned down and kissed the blonde's shoulder. "Da?"

Canada finally looked at him after that, blue orbs locking themselves with amethyst ones. Russia couldn't hold out much longer, his erection was starting to become painful. Not to mention the boy had his own to worry about. The blonde must have noticed the longing in his violet eyes, his _hunger_ for the Canadian, because he nodded shakily and leaned up to place a shy kiss on his nose. "O-Oui."

Despite the Russian's sigh of relief, he asked, "Are you sure? It _will_ hurt," he repeated.

Another nod, and this time a smile, too, graced his angelic face. "Better you now than anyone else later," Canada whispered. His small fingers brushed along the Russian's lips. Russia's eyes widened slightly at the statement. "J-Just be gentle?"

Russia nodded quickly and at last gave in to his desire, sinking down and claiming those tantalizing pink lips as his own. A small whimper escaped the Canadian but he soon wrapped his arms back around the man's neck, pulling him closer. The Russian's hands split up—one trailing down the boy's stomach and the other weaving itself into lovely golden hair. He tugged a certain curl and the blonde's mouth opened in a large moan, muffled by the other's lips. Russia took the opportunity and dipped his tongue into the hot, wet cavern, greedily exploring his mouth.

His other hand caused the Canadian to break the kiss, gasping as he began to stroke the blonde up and down. "O-Ohhh . . ." Canada shuddered, thrusting up into the Russian's hand reflexively. Russia took hold of his lips once again as the blonde started to rock his hips to the movement. As precum leaked out over his fingers, he removed his hand away. Canada groaned in disappointment, trailing after Russia's lips as he broke the kiss.

"Nyet." Russia pressed three fingers on his lips to stop him as he kissed his way down the small, soft chest and down his stomach. Hovering over the boy's erection, he glanced up to meet his blue gaze. Pressing on Canada's lips with his fingers, he commanded, "Suck."

A trembling hand came up and grabbed hold of the Russian's wrist. Canada nibbled on the tips of his fingers for a moment before slowly taking them in his mouth. After a few minutes of watching the erotic sight of the Canadian sucking and wetting his fingers, Russia pulled them back—either deeming them good enough or just impatient to continue, he couldn't tell which. Pushing slightly on the other's chest in a signal for him to lay back, he continued.

Positioning a finger at the boy's entrance, he lowered his mouth around the Canadian's erection and pushed the digit in. Canada couldn't help but cry out; the double stimulation nearly sending him over the edge right then and there. His hands flew down and tangled themselves into Russia's white hair as he tried to get a hold of himself. After a moment of moving the first finger around gently, he pressed the second finger in, testing to see how the Canadian reacted. Another gasp escaped the blonde and he tensed up, his slight fingers tightening on Russia's hair. The Russian slowed in his endeavors, trying not to hurt the Canadian even more than he already was, and instead focused on pleasing the boy as he began to move the fingers in and out. The blonde relaxed after a few moments and started rocking his hips, more moans and gasps sounding from him. Russia took that as an ok and gradually added another finger.

The Russian's tongue swirling around him, the man's free hand coming up to play with his nipples, and the multiple fingers now moving inside of him were finally all too much for the Canadian. He came hard in the other's mouth with a scream of, "RUSSIA!"

The white-haired man eagerly swallowed up all that he had coaxed out of him as the blonde collapsed back onto the bed. Keeping his fingers pumping inside of the Canadian, Russia sat up to give his exhausted partner a quick kiss. He loved the fact that even though Canada looked ready to fall asleep and was breathing heavily, his hips still moved to his fingers. "Ready?" he whispered against the boy's lips, retracting his fingers.

"Y-Yes," Canada panted, his arms moving back to their place around the Russian's shoulders. "Please h-hurry . . ."

"Da, with pleasure." Making sure to position himself just right, Russia gave one last kiss before he pushed himself into the Canadian once again.

As both moaned with pleasure, Russia didn't fail to notice how Canada dealt with the intrusion much better than the last time. His arms tightened and his legs hooked around the man's waist, bringing him in even deeper. _He feels so good . . ._

He didn't have to wait long before he heard the quiet, "Move . . ." He complied almost instantly, pulling back out until only the tip was left in before slamming back inside. Canada gasped each time as Russia repeated the action, getting faster and faster. "R-Russiaaaaa . . ." the Canadian whispered, his breath hitching.

"Ivan," the larger country stated, leaning down and claiming those pink lips as his yet again. He was the only one to have the satisfaction of doing this to the boy and he wanted to hear him say his name. He broke his kiss with the blonde, staring sincerely into those oceanic eyes. "My name is Ivan."

A beautiful smile graced Canada's lips and he pulled the Russian in closer. "I-Ivan," he panted as the man thrust into him again.

"You're mine," Russia growled, possessively biting down on the blonde's neck, plunging in deeper and faster. The kid was _his._ And no one else would have him. _No one._

"I thought v-virgins were supposed to b-be the clingy o-ones—AAAH!" The man hit a certain pot within him, causing the Canadian to cry out and see stars as they impossibly went faster. The Russian growled again—sound like a feral animal—and bit him harder, thrusting harder, licking that tender spot on his neck where blood now dripped. So much for gentle. Another thrust and he screamed. "Ah! Ah—ok, o-ok, I-I'm yours. _Oh god I'm yours_."

Soon the bed was rocking beneath them as he pounded into the blonde as hard as he could, finding that sweet spot that caused him to scream over and over again. Canada's nails bit into his skin and his legs tightened around his waist as the boy was finally driven over the edge and plunged into ecstasy for a second time.

"_IVAN!"_

Russia came not a second later, filling the Canadian to the brim with a loud groan. He supported himself on his elbows so as not to crush the boy beneath him. The heated air was filled with heavy panting and kisses as they both calmed down. A few moments passed and they just stayed as they were—holding each other close.

Canada somehow tightened his grip around the Russian, pulling him deep again. He looked up with hot, seductive blue eyes, a beautiful blush still splashing his cheeks. His voice came out in a hoarse whisper, his breath ghosting over the man's face.

"Again?"

Russia smiled a true smile then, muttering, "Da." He began to move.

…**xXx…**

Russia awoke slowly to the sounds of birds chirping and light breathing. The glare of the sunlight from behind the drapes annoyed him, turning the insides of his eyelids red. He growled in frustration and rolled over, hoping to get some more sleep. A small sigh caught his tired mind's attention and, despite his inner protests, he flicked his eyes open.

Canada was sound asleep next to him. The sunlight coming through the window behind the Russian cascaded down, lighting up the boy's adorable face and giving his golden hair a saintly glow. It seemed as if a light blush was permanently painted across his nose, giving him an innocent look about him.

_Though, he's not so innocent now_, Russia thought, his lips twitching up in a smile. Reaching out, he ran his fingers through silky blonde locks, cupping the Canadian's cheek. He felt something stir in his chest, a slight tugging on the edges of his heart. In the past, if he ever felt something like this, he would just rip out the organ and leave it alone for a few days. Now, he let himself indulge in the odd feeling as he gazed upon his prize.

Canada was his. _Matvey_ is his. No one would take this precious jewel away from him.

_BAM BAM BAM!_ "Mattie! You awake? Open up!"

Russia couldn't help the hiss that escaped him at the intrusion on his peace. His hand slipped out of Canada's hair just as the boy opened his sleepy eyes. The Russian managed to conceal his frown, his eyes softening as he murmured, "Good morning, подсолнух."

"Morning."Canada closed his eyes again, scooting closer to nuzzle up under the white-haired man's chin. "Mmm . . . Who's at the door so early?"

"Mattie! Come on, I know you're in there!"

The Canadian groaned, moving to try and get out of bed but the Russian held him tight. He nipped at an earlobe gently, causing the blonde to shiver. "Want me to get rid of him?" he breathed, practically begging for permission to go out there and beat the crap out of the dumb American. How dare he show up!

Canada paused for a moment, debating whether or not this would cause a problem. It probably would. He didn't feel like moving, though, his muscles were sore and his back had massive kink in it. He finally gave in after a minute, sighing. "Please."

"Da, I'll be right back." Russia flashed a grin and rolled out of bed. He snatched his black pants off of the ground and began to put them on as America pounded on the door again.

"Maaaaaatt_iiiiiiiieeeeeeeee!_" the country whined, sounding like a little child. "I'm sorry about yesterday, I really am! Come on, Mattie! You don't hate me now, do you?"

"Nyet, he doesn't hate you," Russia said cheerfully, swinging the door open just as America was about to knock again. "But I do."

The American's face was priceless. His mouth gaped open and his eyes practically flew out of their sockets as the Russian leaned against the doorframe in front of him. The hand that was still raised to knock turned into an accusing finger, his voice rising several octaves. "What the hell are you doing here, commie?!"

The white-haired man just smiled, enjoying the younger nation's discomfort and shock. He was just about to make a smart remark about how the American really didn't want to know when he spotted a figure coming up the hallway towards them. His heart jumped.

"Oh, is this Canada's room?"

America surprisingly paused in his rage and turned around to see Ukraine beside him. His cerulean eyes met hers and he instantly went into a fit, waving his hand maniacally at the Russian. "Yo, chick! Do you know anything about your bastard brother being in _my_ brother's room?!"

Ukraine looked confused for a moment before she looked up at her brother. Her eyes widened and her boobs bounced slightly as she lifted a hand to cover her mouth in surprise, sporting a bright blush. "Oh my . . ." she whispered.

Russia glanced down at himself. His pants were on but he hadn't bothered to zip them up so a bit of his naval was showing, not to mention that his chest and stomach were spotted with bruise-like hickeys and red marks, especially on his neck. Probably the thing that caught his eyes the most, though, was all the sticky cum on him. He'd forgot to wipe it off. Oh well.

However, when America followed her gaze and actually _looked_ at him for the first time that morning, he was pretty sure that the entire world could feel the earthquake racking through his skull. Russia was never one to back down from a fight, but when the American's eyes turned a toxic red the white-haired man took that instant to slam the door just as the blonde crashed into it.

"I'M GOING TO FUCKING _**KILL**_ YOU!"

Russia felt kind of bad for leaving Ukraine out there as he slid the deadbolt through and leaned against the door to give it some extra strength. He silently thanked the hotel for having metal doors. Nothing says 'safe' like reinforced steel.

Not that it mattered to the American.

The Russian was pretty sure that the entire hotel full of countries could hear the enraged blonde's shouting. "You son of a bitch! Open this damn door!" _*slam*_ "I swear on my heroism and my brother's lost virginity that I am going to nuke you into oblivion. OBLIVIAN!" _*slam*_ "Not even goddamn _ash_ will be left of you!"

Russia looked up from his position at the sound of a yelp, glancing over to see that Canada had fallen onto the floor. "What's going on?" the blonde squeaked, embarrassed. He quickly grabbed the sheet and wrapped it around himself, somehow still self-conscious about being naked around the Russian even though they'd spent all night entirely nude. Standing carefully, the Canadian winced at the pain, his legs wobbling.

"Oh, you know. Your brother didn't feel like leaving quite yet." Taking a minute to make sure the door wasn't going to fly off its hinges—America seemed to have endless energy in order to keep trying to break in, yelling insults all the while—Russia swiftly walked over toward his little jewel and scooped him into his arms.

Canada made a cute little noise of surprise, wincing a little bit again. Russia scowled, his eyes narrowing at the blonde in his arms. He ignored America's slamming and screaming for the moment. "What's wrong?"

"Ah, w-what do you mean?" the Canadian asked quietly. His heart was beating so fast at the expression on Russia's face, causing him to flinch at the man's icy tone as he said:

"I hurt you, didn't I?"

Canada's eyes widened in response as he watched purple orbs cloud with anger and self-loathing.

"What? N-No you didn't."

"Yes, I did."

"W-Well, it wasn't just y-you, you know," Canada muttered, cringing as America strained the door again. His hands let go of the sheet, letting it drape over him, and he reached up to cup the Russian's face. He tried to be convincing, looking sincerely into the man's milky lavender eyes. "It's more my fault than anything else. You gave me a choice and I chose yes. So please, don't beat yourself up over it—this is a . . . _good_ kind of pain."

The Canadian leaned up and kissed him shyly, pulling away a cute shade of pink. Russia sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed with the boy still in his arms. "You know," he mused, staring intently at his blonde. "If you had been anyone else on top of me when I woke up last night, I would've just fucked you senseless without a second thought."

"Well, t-technically you did," Canada murmured, chuckling quietly as he became even redder. He looked down as he busied himself with wiping off the 'mess' on the white-haired man's stomach with the sheet. His voice was really soft and could barely be heard over the loud American—who was very nearly ready just to bust through the non-metal wall. "I must have lost my senses if I'm no longer afraid of you."

"You were afraid of me?" Russia allowed himself a smile, a few _kol's_ slipping out of him jokingly.

Canada fiddled nervously with the sheet, not meeting his gaze. "A-A little bit. I m-mean, you're Russia s-so . . ."

"Mmm. Fair enough."

_BAM!_ "Dammit, COMMIE!"

"Russia, you wanker, I swear if you don't open this bloody door I will_ castrate_ you!"

"Mon Matthieu! Are you alright in there, mon cheri?"

"Great. It looks like the rest of your family's showed up," Russia grumbled, petting the mortified Canadian's hair.

"_Broooootheeerrrrrr. Open this door, brother. That way I can kill whoever is keeping you away from me. BROTHER!"_

An involuntary shiver ran through the Russian and his grip tightened on the blonde.

Canada laughed a little. "Looks like your family is here, too." He nibbled on his lip nervously as he contemplated getting up. After a moment of hearing the countries outside the door continuing to throw a fit, the blonde sighed and wiggled his way out of the Russian's arms, much to the man's disappointment. Since it was his room, he went over to one of the dressers—trying not to wince—and pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a white T-shirt with a red leaf on it.

"Mattie! Answer me, bro! MATTIE!"

"Yeah, yeah, Al! I'm coming!" Canada shouted back—or, well, as loud as he could anyway. The attempt made Russia smirk as he watched the blonde hastily try to get his clothes on.

He stood up and helped him get the shirt down over him, catching the boy's attention as he wrapped his arms around him. His hand glided up beneath the fabric, making the Canadian pause, shivering. "You know," the man said, kissing the boy's neck. "You look much better with this off."

"Y-Yeah, I know." A bright pink took hold of the kid's cheeks once more and he smiled, having to shake the Russian off again. The white-haired man frowned, violet eyes flashing as he spun the Canadian around to face him before crushing his lips against the blonde's. A small squeak escaped the smaller country at the forcefulness and he couldn't breathe.

"Mine." Russia stared at the panting boy for a moment, still holding him close.

"Yours," Canada said breathlessly. The answer was automatic, drilled into his mind—and body—from the night before. It was strange, being like this with someone he had barely known and feared 24hrs ago, but he didn't dare go against the Russian—nor did he really want to. He liked feeling needed considering most of the time no one even saw him. The blonde smiled again, this time leaning up and kissing the taller man with his own _mine._ He pulled back to stare into those soft mauve eyes, pushing away from the man slowly this time. "I should probably go calm down my brother now before we have to pay damages to the hotel."

Russia nodded and let go of him completely, turning to gather and put on his own clothes.

Canada turned and made his way over to the door, the pain in his back subsiding thankfully. He took a steadying breath, preparing himself, before he swung open the door. "Al, I—"

"Mattie!" He found himself being tackled by his brother, all of the air being squeezed out of him.

Ok, scratch that. Back pain was _way_ worse now.

America pulled back, his blue eyes wide with worry. "Oh thank god! That bastard didn't hurt you did he?" His hands ran over him, inspecting for wounds.

Canada saw the man in question stiffen out of the corner of his eye, sliding on his thick tan coat. His vision was blocked before he could turn to him by an eager France as he was glomped again.

"Oh, mon petite Matthieu!" the Frenchman cooed, pulling back to stare at him with wet eyes. He cradled his son's face in his hands lovingly, his emotions getting the better of him. "You're all grown up now, mon cheri," he said, choking back sobs as he attacked him with another hug. "I'm so proud!"

"Proud!" England huffed. He stepped into view, his hands on his hips, emeralds blazing. "This is hardly the time to be proud, you git!" His eyes softened somewhat as they locked with the Canadian's as he peeled the Frenchman off of him. Canada flinched, expecting a scolding. All he felt was a hand patting his head lightly and a heavy sigh. "Are you alright, son?"

He stared in shock at the Englishman. France moved to look at him expectantly with the man, wiping happy tears from his eyes. "I-I'm fine, papa," he murmured, talking to both of them. He was touched they cared this much but . . . "It's not like he's a horse or anything—" He quickly realized what he was saying, his face reddening against his will. "Um, I-I mean . . . uh . . ."

France started giggling and England nearly face-palmed in embarrassment. America however, became as stiff as a board. Canada froze as he watched his brother turn his head slowly over to where the Russian was currently trying to pry Belarus off of him. Canada tensed, a bad feeling tingling up his spine as the American gritted his teeth, a low growl sounding from his throat.

"You . . ."

Icy blues met melting violets.

"_GODDAMN YOU SON OF A OF BITCH!"_

…**xXx…**

Kumajiro's ear flicked as he padded across the expensive carpet. A man trailed a ways behind him as they followed weird loud noises down to where a group of people were standing out in the hallway shouting at each other. Both of them stopped short, a few doors down from the fray. The white bear did a human equivalent of a sigh and sat down, turning to look up at the man standing beside him. "What now?"

The man gave a curt nod, seeming satisfied with the brawling going on between two of the larger men. Swearing and punches aside, some of the smaller men tried to get in between the two. The man tore his gaze away from the others, turning to the bear with smiling brown eyes. "Well, how about you stay with me for a little while longer—at least until things cool down here."

"Who are you again?" Kumajiro asked, letting the man pick him up. Cologne wafted up into his sensitive nose, making it twitch at the exotic smell.

The man gave a small chuckle and began to walk in the opposite direction of the mob. "How about we get something to eat?"

Kumajiro rested his chin on the man's shoulder, blowing a piece of dark hair off his nose. He ignored the fact that the man didn't answer his question at the mention of food. His stomach growled in response. "Ok." The man grinned and nodded again. He was in high spirits and he stole one last glance to the two fighting superpowers behind them before stalking off.

"Revenge is sweet, aru."

**XXX**

**Re-posted, finally! **

**Hello, everyone who actually read this! It makes me so happy~ :D **

**Please review and guess who the 'mystery' man is (which is kinda obvious xD) and WHY he did this. I'd like to hear what you guys come up with! Or just how you thought the story was, either way works for me! ^^ **

…**..friggin took me three weeks dammit…../**

**Da – Yes (Russian, spelt Да)**

**Nyet – No (Russian, spelt Нет)**

**Тупица**** – Dumbass (Russian)**

**Подсолнух – Sunflower (Russian)**

**Mon dieu – My god (French)**

**Mon petite Matthieu – My little Matthew (French)**

**Mon cheri – My dear (French)**

**I do not own anything TT^TT (b/c if I did, this stuff would be canon!)**

**~WhisperWeeper**


	2. Drugged

_Ring-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling!_

"No no no no not now," Canada whined quietly as the Russian broke their kiss.

The man reluctantly reached over to the bedside table and grabbed his cell phone. He flipped it open, sighing at the text message displayed. "It's my boss."

A pout formed on the blonde's lips, a small hand coming up to brush Russia's cheek. "B-But you just got home . . . please. . ."

"He says it's urgent," the white-haired man mumbled. He kissed the Canadian's palm before sitting up and climbing off the bed. He gave a glance down to the boy. "I have to get ready again." With that, he disappeared into the bathroom.

Canada felt like he was going to cry.

Two weeks, two goddamned weeks that he's been staying with Russia—and they hadn't done it at all. It's not like he wasn't enjoying his time with the man, what with them getting to know each other's homes and languages and all that, but . . .

The phone must have interrupted them for the umpteenth-fuckin'-time! If it wasn't either of their cells, it was Kumawhatshisname asking for food, or Belarus breaking in, or the other was too tired. And every time they would be close to _their connection point_ and get interrupted, it always left him all hot and bothered.

Come on, he had even resorted to _begging_ for maple's sake!

Now he was in the same position. Again. Damn.

Blue eyes darted to the Russian as he stepped out of the bathroom, completely clothed and groomed, scarf in hand. Canada sat up quickly, the sheets sliding down him, and met the man halfway for another kiss. He tried to drag it out, tugging on the suit jacket he was wearing, trying to entice him to stay. _Please . . ._

Russia groaned quietly but parted from him anyway with a small, "Sorry." He stared down at him with sympathetic violet eyes, petting his soft blonde hair. "I'll see you later, ok?"

"You don't know what you're missing," Canada murmured, glancing up at him cutely, trying to be seductive.

That earned him another breath-stealing kiss and he found himself pressed flat against the bed. Sighing happily, he hooked his arms around his lover in an attempt to keep him close. Their lips brushed against each others' fiercely for a moment before the Russian parted from him again, kissing his temple. "Da, I do. Bye, подсолнух."

The Canadian couldn't help his whimper as the man stood again with a smile and left. Just like that.

_Fuuuck meeee!_

"Ugh!" Canada threw his arms down on either side of him in a huff.

This sucked epically! (Great, now he sounded likes his brother.) Thoughts of what could have happened ran through his head as he laid there for awhile. Yeah. Because that helped his nerves a whole bunch. It seemed to worsen them, in fact, and his underwear felt tight.

Great. He was all hot-to-trot and Russia had already left him. It didn't help that his gut practically had a permanent knot of tension from all the weeks of denial to his lust. What was he supposed to do now?

"I think I'll take a shower," the blonde decided aloud, sitting back up. Since his shirt had already been 'relieved' from him, he ditched the rest of his clothes and glasses and went to flip on the faucet. Maybe he should set it on cold to help cool down his excited . . . hormones. Nah. He'd be fine. Once the water was warm enough, he stepped into the spacious glass and porcelain shower. The spray felt good coming down on his skin, relaxing his tense muscles.

He did his best to keep his mind off of his 'problem', and instead thought about the past couple weeks.

The morning after their first night together had been . . . well, terrible—for lack of a better word.

It had started out great, what with waking up in Russia's arms, the man petting his hair and calling him 'sunflower.' Then his brother had to ruin the moment with his overreacting and yelling. Not to mention the fact that the American had flat out started attacking Russia for no reason! It took France, England, Ukraine, and himself to pull America away from Russia and a devilish Belarus. Both his brother and his lover needed to go get stitches while England officially banished him to the conference room until the day's meeting started—astonishing since the hotel had replaced the meeting table so fast. It had been so awkward. Everyone had stared at him and tried to ask questions.

It was one of those rare times when he'd wished he'd been invisible.

Once the meeting started, though, everything went back to normal, besides the occasional side comment about him being 'brave' for being with Russia. The man in question had sat on one side of him while his brother sat on the other the entire time. It had been awful. His bear had suddenly appeared, too, muttering the usual about him being hungry.

Which he was incredibly thankful for considering Kumanuma was the whole reason why he'd been in that situation to sleep with Russia in the first place. Not that he didn't enjoy it, but that damned mysterious person had used his best friend to blackmail him into being a sex slave for one night. Talk about cruel!

As he reached for the shampoo, he shivered at the memory of when he'd gotten back to his hotel room and realized his bear wasn't with him. He'd went back and checked the conference room, the hallways, even the kitchen—anywhere that his little buddy could have been. Not only was he worried to death but when he'd gotten back to his room there was a creepy note left on his bed telling him what he had to do and if he refused then Kumamiro would be killed. While he was reading the note, though, the perpetrator had snuck up behind him and strung a black bag over his head, knocking him out with some sort of drug. Next thing he knew he was lying on someone, completely naked and blindfolded by a weird contraption.

Then he was terrified. He didn't really want to do anything to the tied up man beneath him. Whether it was rape or some wicked form of S&M, he _really_ didn't want to be a part of it. But then the idea of someone hurting his bear popped into his head and he felt sick. It was just one bad thing after another, what with his brother going haywire, throwing things at him and yelling. Then the whole slave thing and his best friend being threatened . . . He wouldn't be able to take it if anything bad happened to Kumakichi.

So he did what he'd been told to do.

And, oh fuck, was it _painful!_ He wasn't exactly a virgin like Russia and apparently his family had thought—he was hundreds of years old for Pete's sake—but he hadn't done it with a guy in a long while so it had hurt like a mother. Not to mention he had never had anyone as _big_ and usually he would just hook up with girls, anyway—but he never really had a preference. Maybe it was the French in him.

But he wasn't going to say all that amidst the heat of the moment.

But when the man beneath him had broken free from the chains and flipped him on his back . . . he'd never been so frightened. All of his bravery and excuses for why he was even there left him as panic seeped into his veins.

And then the man had spoken.

"_Open your eyes, Matvey."_

That accent shocked him to the core and, after he did open his eyes, he couldn't help but break down. Not only had he been paralyzed with fear, but it only mounted even more as he spotted Russia—_THE Russia_—staring down at him with angry, lusty eyes. Then he had been scared for his life, not to mention embarrassed out of his mind. It's not like he hadn't checked the Russian out before—who hasn't?—because he was a fine, strong man and was sexy as hell with that white hair of his. But his unstable/violent reputation and the blonde's own invisibility kept him from ever making small talk outside of work.

But the man had been nothing but kind to him during that time in the hotel room, despite his daunting appearance.

And a kiss. Russia had kissed him so sweetly while he cried; he couldn't help but kiss him back, hugging the man to him. He remembered all of the anxiety pouring out of him from that kiss.

Of course he'd suspected at first that the Russian had been behind it all and was just playing innocent, but that all changed when he had told him what happened after the meeting the next day. The man had been completely livid, looking ready about to kill anyone who came too close. But . . . he'd been able to calm him down—surprising considering he was scared to death. Russia had let him soothe him, though, instantly offering that he should stay with him for a couple weeks to make sure that he was safe.

And so here he was.

A sex-less 'sex slave.'

But that didn't mean he disliked the Russian—he liked him a lot, actually. And, according to Russia, he was his. Not that he had to worry about him turning all insane and taking him over—he'd changed, right? He was a bit grateful to whoever had done this so they ended up together. Just a bit. A small, microscopic, electron sized _bit._

The Canadian sighed at the memory and finished up, his nerves seeming calm enough. Turning the shower off and stepping out onto the rug, he grabbed the towel he'd put out and began to dry himself. Quickly realizing he hadn't laid out any clothes, the blonde tied the towel around his waist and stepped out into the bedroom.

He hugged himself as the chill instantly hit him, shivering as he put on his glasses. He smiled as he spotted a familiar white ball of fluff lying on the comforter of Russia's king size bed, snoring. Rummaging through the two drawers the man had let him use, he frowned. Damn. He just remembered that all of his clothes were dirty and in the washer. Maybe the Russian had a robe he could wear. He straightened and strode over to the man's closet, starting to look through all of the suits and shirts. Nope, there wasn't a robe in there.

A thought popped in his head. He thought he'd spotted another closet somewhere downstairs as he walked out of the bedroom. The Canadian's damp, warm feet padded on the cool hardwood floor as he passed Russia's home phone sitting on a decorative table in the hallway. He paused, a sudden urge to call his lover flashing through him.

Tucking the corner of his towel in the top, he slowly reached out for the phone, huffing at himself. The blonde checked the time on the receiver. The Russian had only been gone a little over an hour. This was pathetic—he couldn't even last an hour? The Canadian shook his head and continued walking towards the staircase, the floorboards creaking quietly as he made his way down. Now where was that closet?

Stepping off the bottom stair, he paused and looked around. It still amazed him how huge Russia's house was. It was pretty much about six times the size of his own house—an old, three story mansion that looked several hundred years old. The staircase he'd just walked down was close to the front door and twin staircase sat a dozen yards opposite of it. To his left was a hallway leading to the kitchen and garage, and the huge foyer to his right opened straight back into the living room, a hallway from there to the library and various other rooms. Bookshelves lined the walls everywhere, it seemed, as well as trophy, movie, and gaming cases.

He chuckled as he remembered that when he had first arrived at the Russian's house how he'd been so surprised at finding video games like _Modern Warfare_ and _Singularity_ on the man's shelf. Russia had simply shrugged and said they were good games.

Something caught his eye and Canada turned to look at a long, tan coat hanging on a hook beside the door. He blinked in surprise. _Russia must have forgot his coat today_, he thought, padding over to it. He reached out his hand to brush against the lightly colored material. It was soft, worn down from years of use. He couldn't help himself as he lifted it off of the wall hook, sliding his thin arms into the jacket and clasping the front of it. Well, it could work as a robe, however . . .

It was _way_ too big.

A good half a foot of the coat sat upon the floor and the sleeves dangled just about as much off the tips of his fingers. Jesus! How did he manage to ever sleep with a guy who was so big? Even his clothes dwarfed him completely! And it wasn't just his arms that were big . . .

The Canadian blushed at the thought, burying his face into the collar of the jacket. That wasn't such a good idea.

He paused for a moment, sniffing the smooth fabric. He inhaled the thick scent of vodka, something smooth like vanilla, and that smell he couldn't quite place but was so distinct and warming. _Ivan . . ._ The blonde closed his eyes, a small groan escaping him as he sat down on the stairs. He lifted the collar up more, pressing his face into it as he tried to take in all of the man's scent.

His heart dropped, and he wished his lover was there with him. _I'm not lonely, it's just . . ._ He hugged the coat, picturing the Russian's arms around him and took another deep breath. Was it so wrong that he wanted to be touched by him again? To feel his arms around him, those strong lips against his? Wanting to experience that wonderful night over?

He felt his towel lifting up and he crossed his legs in an effort to stop it. Shit—so much for his shower.

_I-I can't help it_, he thought. His hand dipped down to remove the towel from around his waist, releasing the pressure beneath. His damp, hot skin stuck to the inside of jacket and he rolled his shoulders, loving the feel of the cool material against him. The blonde's muscles were tight and he moved his hand down to relieve the tension, finally giving in.

Then a loud crash sounded behind him.

Canada stopped, his body stiff. He sat still for a few minutes, his ears straining to hear anything else. It had sounded like a crash. Did Kumachako . . ? No. He was asleep upstairs on the bed, wasn't he? The blonde stood up slowly, his legs shaking slightly as he tried to repress his hormones at the moment. Was it Belarus again? God forbid if it was that insane, obsessive woman!

He stepped quietly around the railing at the bottom of the stairs, gripping the phone in his hand tightly, prepared to beat the hell out of anyone who might appear. He also felt the cold steel of a gun and Russia's water pipe hanging on the inside of the coat he was wearing, and that gave him some comfort as well. He walked as stealthily as he could into the living room where he heard the crash. He froze at a small clapping sound and a hum as he pressed his back against the wall, holding his breath. Another clapping sound, then nothing but silence met him.

The Canadian cautiously stepped forward again, his damp feet quiet against the wood. He glanced around the living room. Beige couch, glass coffee table, rug, flat screen, shelves . . .

He noticed a few of the books and movies had fallen off the shelves and he sighed a bit in relief, walking over to them. Stooping down, he began picking up the items and placing them back in their spots. Maybe gravity was just playing a trick on him. But then what was that clapping noise that he had heard? Was it a movie falling? Carefully, he dropped one of the cases onto the floor, listening to the sound. It was close, but . . . He shrugged. Whatever. He put the movie back.

Nerves easing up somewhat, he grabbed one of the fallen movies, desperate for a distraction, and flipped on the TV._ I shouldn't get flustered so easily by a few falling books_, the blonde scolded himself as he loaded the movie into the player.

But as he held the disk, he couldn't stop his fingers from trembling and he frowned. Well, he _was_ in the infamous Russia's house, a feat not many other countries would even attempt. What with the older, haunted feel of the building, and the Russian's psychotic sister who broke in whenever she felt like it, who wouldn't feel a little on edge? He loaded the movie in and watched as the player ate the disc, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

_I might still just be a little freaked out about the whole ransom thing. I mean, someone managed to sneak up on me before, what's to say they couldn't do it again? I've been too laid back lately_, Canada scolded himself.

The Canadian stood as the movie began to play, taking comfort in the familiar noise of the television. He sighed at himself and turned around towards the kitchen to grab something to drink. He stumbled a bit on Russia's coat and blushed—he'd forgotten he even had it on. Hiking up the long jacket respectfully, he made his way under the staircase and down a short hallway into the kitchen.

Stepping across the tile over to the fridge, he opened it and paused from the hum of the appliance. He shook off the creepy feeling once again and scanned the inside of the fridge. It was chock full of vodka bottles, aside from a gallon of milk, butter, orange juice, and a bottle of water.

He sighed, a small smile coming to his lips at the sight._ Russia really needs to cut down on the alcohol_, he thought, chuckling. He reached out and grabbed the bottle of water, letting the door swing shut. _I don't know how he get's anything done._

Walking back to the living room as the movie he'd chosen—some Russian war flick—began to play. He unscrewed the cap of the water bottle and took a drink. The water tasted like peaches or apricots, the taste tickling his tongue. His eyebrows furrowed and he brought it away from his lips. Looking at the rapper closely, he could only make out bits and pieces of the Russian words on there but nothing indicated that it was fruit water.

A sudden heaviness fell over him, his eyelids and chest heavy. The bottle slipped from his grasp and he stumbled forward, his mind whirling. _What the . . ? _

His heart clenched, it all starting to make sense. The clapping noises and the hum that he'd heard . . . was it from the fridge? He glanced down at the water pooling around his feet. If so, then . . . _Oh no_, he thought as fear struck him. _The water bottle . . ._ He saw more than felt his body lurch forward, his feet slipping out from beneath him as he fell to the ground.

He stopped abruptly, however, a pair of arms catching him right before he hit the hardwood floor.

…**xXx…**

The blonde's eyes wouldn't open and everything was still for a long time, his senses dulled. Had he fallen asleep? It sort of felt like it, but . . .

"_Matvey."_

Canada squirmed as an invisible hand ghosted over his stomach, his heart beating fast. "I-Ivan . . ." he breathed, the name barely able to cross his tongue. What was wrong with him?

A low, throaty laugh escaped the man touching him just as that hand dipped between his legs. The Canadian gasped and tried reaching for the Russian's wrist. But nothing happened.

_I-I can't move_, he thought, struggling to open his eyes.

Another laugh sounded as he felt himself being stroked. He couldn't help the moan that escaped from him, his hips bucking slightly. He couldn't control his actions, not in his weird, lethargic state anyway.

Was this another drug? Realization spiked in him again, and his heart dropped. Was the Russian _really_ the culprit for that first time in the hotel room? Sure, he looked legitimately upset afterwards, but . . . His chest squeezed. The man did have a past marked with insanity, right?

So this was all his doing?

As Russia continued teasing him, he managed to crack open his eyes a little. He found himself lying face-down against the shaggy black and white rug, the coffee table moved off to the side a few feet away. Why didn't Ivan just take him upstairs to the bedroom? Why did he even bother to drug him again in the first place?

His hands slowly balled into fists, tightly gripping the rug as he felt multiple, thick fingers enter him. A small scream clawed its way from his throat as pain racked up his spine. At the same time, his whole body seemed to jerk as all his nerves sparked simultaneously. His skin felt sticky, his breathing erratic, vision blurry, gasping harshly as the fingers began to pump inside him.

Why was the Russian being so rough? Sure, he was needy, too, but this was just painful. "I-Ivan," he gasped, gripping the rug again, "s-slow down . . . You're h-hurting me."

Either the man didn't hear him or just didn't care because he instead picked up his pace of torture, adding yet another finger to make him scream out once more. A tongue traced the outer shell of his left ear, the man's voice whispering,_ "I think you like it, you little slut."_

Horror spiked in him at that moment, seeping into his bones. Russia would have never called him that—not after what had happened in the hotel room, whether he was or wasn't the culprit. Not to mention that the voice wasn't quite right. It had an accent, but it wasn't thick like a Russian accent, and it sounded mechanically distorted.

Canada felt tears pricking his wide eyes.

It wasn't Russia touching him. _Oh god, it wasn't Russia._

The blonde choked back a sob as his breath hitched again. How could he have doubted the Russian? He'd been nothing but sweet to him! _Ivan, I'm so sorry . . ._

He tried to kick at the perpetrator but found his legs unmovable. Whatever drug this man had given him, it made it hard for him to move, let alone fight back against the intrusive hands. His skin stuck to the insides of the coat he had on, all of his nerve endings way too sensitive. He was way too warm, like someone had turned the heater up all the way, making it hard for him to breath—not to mention all he could smell was that damned fruit water.

And his stomach was twisting unnaturally—every thrust of the man's fingers making him feel nauseated and high on pleasure at the same time.

Something wasn't right.

He spotted the phone lying a few inches from his hand, feeling a prick of relief in his chest. As the man continued to be preoccupied with his nether regions, he willed all of his strength into his arm and reached out towards the device. Gripping the plastic tightly, he scooted his arm back under him and prepared to dial.

He made sure to moan every time he pressed a button to hide the beeping sound, making sure to pause between every one. He slid the phone to his ear beneath his head, tears streaming down his face.

The ringing echoed slowly in his ear as he screamed out again from the pain.

…**xXx…**

_Dammit._

The man shook the pen in his hand, scribbling the nub on sticky note. All it did was engrave circular lines into the yellow paper, no ink visible.

Russia frowned and held up the pen. He unscrewed the top of it and pulled the ink cartridge out. It was a brand new pen and it was full of ink. He put it back together and tried writing with it again.

Nothing.

Sighing in annoyance, the Russian allowed himself a small break as he tossed the pen on the table. He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head, cracking his back.

His boss had called him in because his sister, Ukraine, and her boss had finally arrived for their _earlier_ scheduled meeting. She had already apologized multiple times for being late, sputtering something about their flight being delayed due to the snow storm. At the moment it was still raining down snow at a heavy, constant speed around them.

The timid woman was currently sitting across the meeting table from him, enjoying a cup of coffee, while their bosses spoke beside them. The Russian had nearly dozed off a few times during the boring meeting about oil. He was dead tired. His mind wouldn't—no, _couldn't_—focus on the meeting.

His thoughts were filled with his little Canadian.

God, he wanted to break his phone. He wanted to quit being a country for _just one day._ He was at his limit resisting the blonde. He had to tear himself away from him earlier, leaving him alone. On his bed. Wanting him.

If this had been a meeting with anyone besides Ukraine he would've said fuck it and stayed home.

His boss knew that Canada was visiting his house. But, despite that, he was working him to the bone anyway. He didn't know the real reason the blonde was staying at his house, he figured they were building good relations.

_Good relations, indeed._

Russia allowed himself a tired smile, rubbing his eyes as he sat up straight once again. Blinking, he caught his sister staring at him. Raising an eyebrow curiously at her, the woman just gave a smirk and jumped back into the discussion.

Just then his phone decided to go off, making everyone in the room jump in surprise, including himself. A groan escaped from his throat, supported by the weeks of constant ringing, as he reached to his vibrating coat pocket. He reread the caller ID several times.

It was his home phone.

Confusion ran through him. Why was Canada calling him? Not once since he'd arrived at his house had the Canadian called him at work—probably out of respect. In that case, did something happen to make the blonde call him?

An uneasy feeling began to settle in his gut.

Excusing himself from the table, he quickly made his way to the door, ignoring his boss' glare at his back as they paused the discussion to wait for him. Stepping through, he shut the door behind him and stood in front of the meeting room window, glancing back at the others inside. He slid his phone back in his pocket as he switched the call to the Bluetooth in his ear.

He brought his finger up to the gadget, hitting talk. "Hello—"

"_Ivan! Ivan, oh god!"_ The Canadian's voice sobbed from the other line.

The Russian instantly tensed. Aside from the crying, he could hear a voice in the background. It . . . sounded like a man, but he couldn't quite tell. His thoughts instantly returned to the blonde. "Matvey, what's wrong?"

"_S-Someone's—ah! Ah . . . Ivan, please . . ."_ He heard what sounded like a curse and then a scream from the Canadian. _"IVAN!"_

The sound of a struggle rang out from the other end of the line, the phone jostling and rubbing against unknowable fabric as Canada cried out in protest. Then, suddenly, there was a loud _CLACK!_ from the other line and the Canadian's voice sounded far away.

"_Ivan! Please—someone's t-trying to—ah . . . Get away!—Ivan! Help me!"_

Russia's hand slammed against the window, the glass cracking outwardly beneath his palm. His eyes were narrowed, staring unseeingly into the meeting room and anger rose up in him. His and Ukraine's boss stood up, along with his sister, her blue eyes wide with concern.

Maybe it was the expression on his face, or the look in his eyes—or the glass cracking—that made the three people inside the meeting rooming head towards him quickly, his sister the first one to reach the door.

But that didn't matter. No, it didn't matter at all. Nothing mattered but this.

The moment he'd heard the terror in Canada's voice as his name was ripped from his throat, the only thing that mattered to him was increasing his speed as his boots pounded across the carpet. He flew down the hallway and towards the staircase—completing bypassing the elevator despite the fact that he was on the 10th floor. The machine would be too slow and at this moment, he needed _speed_. Flying through the stairwell door, he practically skipped half the steps on that first flight of stairs.

The Canadian's desperate cries in the background of the call fueled him on, willing, _urging_ his feet to go faster. The steps beneath him were nothing but a white blur as he swiftly descended the flights of stairs.

Someone was hurting his Matvey.

A man had _dared_ to break into his home—_his home_—and attempted to dirty, to soil, to _corrupt_ his precious little jewel.

A feral snarl erupted from his throat as he hit one landing after another.

He was going to kill him.

Ohhhh ho, how he was going to make this person suffer.

The Russian slowed on the second to last landing and launched himself over the side of the railing, grunting as he landed in front of the exit. His ankles protested as he immediately stood, pushed through the door and began running again. His body wasn't used to the strain—he'd been too relaxed lately.

"_Get awa—AH! You freak! Get away from me, you—! Ah! Ivan! P-Please . . !"_

But that was enough to keep him going. He could feel every frantic scream from the Canadian pushing him forward across the snow covered asphalt. He slid into his car quickly and turned it on, not giving it time to warm up as he peeled out of the parking lot.

The engine sputtered a few times before he got to the nearby highway, unprepared for the sudden take off in the freezing weather. A part of Russia's mind groaned—he would probably have to check and make sure the engine was ok later.

But the BMW easily leveled out on the highway, warming up pretty quickly as the Russian pressed the pedal down. Paying no mind to the ice and snow covered roads, he weaved in and out of evening traffic, getting plenty of honks and squealing of tires.

Yeah. Because going 169 kph (105 mph) at night during a blizzard was always such a good idea.

Then he heard a loud clanking noise on the other line, a shout from the Canadian, and then it was silent.

"Matvey?" he called, his hand going up to his earpiece in worry. The line was still live—there was no dial tone—but he couldn't hear anything. The man's heart stopped as he switched the car into the next gear, traction kicking in finally. "Matvey!"

There was a bit of fabric rustling on the other line before a voice whispered, _"I'm here."_

Russia thought his heart was going to fall out of his chest from the force of the relief flooding him. He slowed the car down to turn off the highway, but instantly sped up again once he was off the ramp. Zooming through a small town, he continued his fast pace down the deserted dirt road that led straight into the pine forests towards his house.

"Matvey, I'm almost home, okay?" he said, not sure which one of them he was comforting. The pedal was pushed down as far as he would let it—he wanted to get to his little Canadian as fast as possible, but if he crashed then he wouldn't be able to get to him at all.

There was some muffled panting before Canada spoke. _"O-Okay . . . please hurry."_ Then the call cut off.

And hurry he did.

Braking heavily, his tires skidded through the snow in his driveway as he turned the car off. Jumping out of the sedan before it came to a complete halt, Russia's long legs instantly propelled him through the deep snow and darkness until he reached the front door. Finding it already opening, the man tensed, half expecting to see the culprit trying to make a run for it.

But instead it was his little jewel opening the door for him, wearing his coat, holding his pipe, and tears streaming down those rosy cheeks. Russia didn't even pause in his stride, taking one, two, three steps and scooping the blonde up into his arms, kicking the door shut behind him against the frigid air from outside.

Canada just wrapped his arms tightly around the man's neck and buried his face into the wool white scarf, sobbing.

"I-I hit him with your p-pipe and h-he took off. Oh, god, Ivan! I-I'm so s-sorry!" he cried, his arms like a vice grip on his shoulders.

"Are you alright, подсолнух?" Russia asked quickly, stroking the boy's damp blonde hair.

"H-He was touching me and—and I-I liked it and oh god all I could think of w-was you, Ivan . . . I th-thought it was you . . ." Canada just continued to cry softly, muttering apologies over and over again. "I'm sorry, I-Ivan. I'm so, s-so sorry. Oh, god, I-I'm—"

His heart thumped. "Not one more apology." The Russian pulled his head back to stare intently at the Canadian's face. His eyes were soggy and scrunched up in pain, and his wet hair was strewn across his flush face. He just shook his head and hugged the smaller snowy country to him again, closing his violet orbs in relief. "All that matters is that you're ok," he whispered.

Canada gave a groan and his body seemed to slump into him, his grip around his neck loosening. Russia just held him tighter and walked into his living room. He spotted the back door swinging open, snow blowing in harshly, and his muscles tensed. He set his little jewel down on the shag rug, murmuring for him to wait for a moment, before stalking his way towards the back door.

A growl rose up in his throat as he spotted tracks in the snow leading away and around the side of his house. He flipped on the outside light to see if he could spot the perpetrator and he thought he saw the flittering of a coat disappear around the corner. He was just about to take off after the man, fury flaring up in him, when he heard a large_ thump_ behind him.

The Canadian's legs gave out beneath him and he fell down into the thick black and white rug, dropping the Russian's pipe onto the floor. All of his adrenaline seemed to just seep from his limbs and he hunched over, panting from the strain. The drug he had taken still swam in his system and he was surprised he was able to fight off his attacker at all—let alone walk and greet his love. All his strength seemed to sap out of him then and all he could do was focus on breathing, trying to ignore his now painful _problem._

He heard a door shut and footsteps coming toward him quickly, and he managed enough to sit up, the white-haired man gripping his shoulders to support him.

"Matvey? Are you alright?" Russia shook his head at his own stupid question and he returned his severe gaze to the sweating blonde in front of him. "Where did he . . . hurt you?"

The boy's sapphire eyes widened and, still panting furiously, he attempted to speak. "H-He . . . um, he to-touched me . . ."

"Where?" The question was as hard as the amethysts that stared out at him.

Tears pricked his eyes and he tried to blink them away. The Canadian's voice was barely audible as he whispered, "E-Everywhere."

Russia stiffened in surprise. "What?"

"Everywhere!" The country shouted hoarsely as more tears he'd been holding back slipped from blue pools and slid down rosy cheeks. With his last scrap of energy he grasped the Russian's shoulders tightly and fell back onto the rug, pulling the larger man on top of him.

His hot breath blew into the man's ear, "Please get him out of me."

The white-haired man's eyes widened in horror and he pulled back, staring down at his little Canadian. "How far did he go?" His voice was much quieter than he would have liked it to be.

Canada squeezed his eyelids shut for a minute before looking up at his distressed Russian lover. "J-Just his fingers."

"How many?"

Canada attempted to smile a little, tears still lingering on his cheeks. "You don't need to prepare me, if that's what you're asking."

Russia dug his fist into the shag carpet beside his jewel's head, hissing in displeasure. "This is not something to joke about, Matvey."

"I know, but," his fingers knotted themselves in the man's precious scarf, pulling him closer to try and kiss him. His heart was hammering so hard he thought it would fly out of his chest. "I-I can't calm down, Ivan, and I can b-barely move. I'm all flustered and hot and can't catch my breath . . . H-He gave me some kind of drug, and I—"

"Drug?"

The blonde barely nodded and he looked deeply up into his lover's hurt violet eyes. "I need you," he breathed forcefully, feeling his arms about to give out again.

"_Prends moi."_

Their lips met at last and what started soft and sweet soon turned needy and burning, the kiss deepening exponentially. Canada felt his heart squeeze and his limbs finally gave out. He sunk down into the plush rug beneath him and he let Russia take it from there.

The man broke their kiss and looked down at his weak state, his eyes squinting with an unnamable emotion as he leaned back down towards his fragile, precious jewel. "I'm going to make you feel better, подсолнух."

And so he did.

Canada didn't remember much after that point other than the glorious friction between the two of them. It felt like every inch of him was electrified and shots of lightning sparked wherever the Russian touched him—his whole body was one raw nerve, exposed to the high of lust. All he _could_ remember was sheer fire every time the man pounded in and out of him, a bolt of searing pleasure shooting up his spine and out his throat in the form of screams and moans. And when he hit that special spot within him—

_Oh god._ The world went black.

His body felt as limp as a tissue and he didn't feel as if he would ever move again. _That drug was really somethin'_, he thought lazily. The awful twisting in his stomach was finally gone and he felt his breathing begin to even out. He didn't stay out of it for long and when he did open his eyes he looked straight up into tortured mauve orbs.

That's when he noticed that the Russian was still inside of him, big and pulsing. The white-haired man just leaned down and began kissing his face softly as the boy's eyebrows furrowed. "How are you feeling?" the man asked, pulling back to look at him with a smile that wasn't there a moment ago.

The Canadian just looked up at him, terribly confused. "You . . . You didn't . . ."

"Do not worry about me," Russia continued, beginning to pull out.

"No," Canada groaned, using what little strength he could muster to wrap his legs around his lover's waist. He began to rock his hips again with relative ease, much to his surprise, as the drug had begun to subside. He went to yank the man down for a series of frantic kisses but instead flew up and sat in the man's lap, their mouths connecting roughly.

When they parted for air, the blonde began to grind against the cock inside him again, drawing moans from the both of them. "We _finally_ get to fuck after all this time—you _are_ going to cum inside me," he grunted firmly, tilting his head back in enjoyment.

Large hands on his hips stilled his rutting and he huffed in frustration, looking down at the Russian's conflicted face. The man's words froze him in place.

"That's all this is?"

Canada blinked. "What?"

"This is just a fuck, then?" Russia said quietly, sheltering his eyes beneath his bangs. "Just a fuck, a fling, and nothing . . ." The Canadian swallowed the lump in his throat, ignoring the pain in his chest from the man's soft tone as he held his breath and waited for his next words.

"Nothing more?"

The Russian looked up then, his purple eyes revealing the emotions he had been concealing in his voice. Canada's heart stopped in its tracks when he saw the distress in his orbs, a touch of hurt, and—dare he say it—a touch of fear was in them as well. He was baring all to the boy in his arms and the Canadian was caught up in the sincerity and the rarity of the moment.

The blonde felt his heart flutter as he stared in awe at the Russian. _Does he mean he wants . . . he and I to . . ?_ Canada began to smile slowly and he hugged himself to the man's still clothed torso, burying his blushing face into his scarf. "You pick the weirdest times to have serious conversations," he giggled into the light fabric, thrusting his hips downward as an example and causing them both to groan in need.

The Canadian pulled back, though, and cupped the white-haired man's wanton, slightly guarded face in his palms. A thousand thoughts passed through his mind about everything that had happened between them already, what could happen if he gave this a shot, the pros, the cons, their families—that thought terrified him a little. Neither of their families would be pleased at their union, especially America on his side and Belarus on Russia's. But as his cobalt eyes looked into and melted with beautiful lavender ones, his heart swelled in his chest and told him the answer he already knew.

He smiled at the Russian and leaned in closer, his expression turning serious for a moment. "I'm willing to try if you are."

Russia's eyes got wide before they narrowed mischievously and a devilish smirk appeared on his lips. Dark lilac glinted happily before he devoured the other's mouth in a breathless, deep kiss.

"_Mine."_

Canada grinned as he felt his back being pressed into the shaggy rug again and they parted from the kiss. He stared blissfully up at his now 'official' lover and stroked his cheek.

"_Yours."_

…**xXx…**

**Notes:**

**Soooo...sorry this took FOREVER to come out. My Swisstria took hold of me ;_; And school...and life...**

**NO! No excuses! I apologize from the bottom of my heart! ^ **

**Can YOU guess who the newest perpetrator is? ;P**

**I wanted to add SO MUCH MORE to this but I guess it isn't so...Maybe I should be glad. Trust me - some heartbreaking stuff was gonna happen ^_^'' Anywho...**

**Oh, and Russia keeps calling Mattie 'sunflower' - that's the Russian bit there. And 'Prends moi' means take me, if Google is anything to go by...**

**I apologize again! *runs away***

**~WhisperWeeper**


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